


1950's Pick-Up Technique

by ColetheWolf



Series: Peter's Sexcipades [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Breeding, Fingering, Jock Straps, Light Dom/sub, Locker Room, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Self-facial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 14:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColetheWolf/pseuds/ColetheWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The things that Peter and Jackson did in the locker room ought to stay in the locker room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1950's Pick-Up Technique

**Author's Note:**

> On Twitter, @Puppywolfhale, @RyNeil and @Qhuinn thought it'd be cool if I did a series were Peter basically bangs a different character in each fic. I agreed cause it sounds totally awesome. Then I just got an anon message like 4 hours ago asking for a Peter/Jackson fic and I thought it was a perfect reason to start on the series. So, I hope you guys like. It's totally un-beta'd and was written over the course of 2-3 hours.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> NOTE: Jackson is underage. He is 16, like he is in the show.

If it wasn’t required to change in and out of uniform for lacrosse practice, then Jackson wouldn’t even step foot in the locker rooms. There is not a serious reason as to why Jackson wouldn’t. It is mostly because he thinks his shoes are too expensive to touch down in such a miserable and filthy place. Although it could be because the locker room smells like ass, every single locker is tattooed with tasteless sharpie sketches, and twenty-plus year old Derek Hale likes to make appearances every once in awhile to lurk and perv around... Everyone is pretty sure it’s because of the “shoes” thing though.  
  
Jackson is alone in the locker room. The last student took to the exit just a few minutes ago when Jackson told him to “fucking hurry up and get out”. Jackson doesn’t even know that kid’s name. Jonathan? Robert? Max? It’s something stupid and boring. Jackson at least knows that much.   
  
Jackson pays no attention to his surroundings in the locker room. He just stays on one of the benches and continues threading the netting to his lacrosse stick. He is still in his lacrosse uniform. The maroon jersey and matching shorts are still slightly damp from Jackson’s excessive perspiration, but they’re drying. Jackson’s hair looks far from perfect. It’s messy, tangled and unkempt. Having his helmet on for the past hour during practice really did a number on his blond locks.  
  
The locker room is still steamy and humid from the showers that were pouring not too long ago. Visibility is okay, Jackson can still see, but the steam and mist are making it hard to make out distance shapes and figures.   
  
Jackson looks up from his lacrosse stick when he hears a couple of footsteps. He turns his head from side to side as he slowly scans the room. In the distance a dark figure stands shrouded by the steam. Nothing but a pair of smoldering blue eyes stands out. Jackson rolls his eyes and jumps up from the bench. He throws his lacrosse stick to the ground and pulls off his gloves. Jackson stomps towards the dark figure like a child throwing a tantrum. He points his index finger and clenches his jaw as he makes his way closer.  
  
“Who the fuck do you think you are, Derek? You don’t scare me.” Jackson grits out and gets closer. His eyes widen with shock and fear when he finally cuts through the mist to see that that figure is not Derek. It’s Peter.   
  
Peter steps forward and nonchalantly bats his hand around to clear the steam. “Not who you expected?” Peter asks. He laughs and steps forward again. “Derek has red eyes. I have blue. Careless mistake, Jackson.”  
  
By now Jackson is stepping away every time Peter tries to step closer. He tries to make sense of the situation. Jackson is unsure if his mind is playing tricks on him. He watched Peter burn. He watched Peter die. How the hell is he alive, and why is he here in the locker rooms?  
  
Jackson mans up, stands his ground and puffs up his chest. “Don’t you animals understand boundaries? Do you understand that this is a high school? As in for teenagers only. What are you, like fifty going on sixty?” Jackson crosses his arms and a raised eyebrow.  
  
Peter can’t help but laugh. “Thirty-six, actually. How old are you again, Jackson? Sixteen?” He asks.  
  
Jackson nods with his arms still crossed. “What does it matter to you?”  
  
“Astounding. You know, back when I was a teenager, they certainly didn’t build sixteen year olds like you. Chiseled jaw-line, toned muscles, flawless skin and golden hair. Perfection. Yet all of it seems to be buried under that horrendous attitude.”   
  
Jackson scoffs. “What? Is this some sort of ancient 1950’s pick-up technique? You can do better than that.”  
  
Peter glues his hand around to Jackson’s throat and violently pushes him back into the row of lockers. “I smelt the blood pump down to your dick when you thought I was Derek. Don’t pretend like you don’t sit here in these locker rooms fantasizing about getting on your hands and knees for your teammates.” Peter smiles.  
  
“That’s why you’re always last to leave the locker room isn’t it, Jackson? You like sneaking a peek so you can go back home at night and jerk off to the visuals you burned into your brain.”   
  
Jackson can do no more but attempt to respond. His mind is jumbled. He wasn’t expecting Peter to take such a surprising twist in the conversation.   
  
“Sounds accurate doesn’t it, Jackson?” Peter asks and loosens his grip on Jackson’s neck.  
“Picture this. The stereotype-ridden, hot, popular jock getting on his knees to suck cock and take it up the ass. Does it sound like something you’d be interested in doing?”   
  
Jackson nods and Peter smiles. “Of course it does.”  
  
Peter grabs Jackson by his lacrosse jersey and pulls him down to his knees. With the teenager waiting in place, Peter unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants. He reaches the calloused dryness of his own hand into his pants and hurriedly pulls out his semi-hard erection. Peter pumps himself into his fist while he stares at Jackson.  
  
Who knew a conceited, egotistical, asshole could look so harmless on his knees? Jackson looks so wanting and so ready. His lips wet with saliva, and his freckled cheeks blushing red with heat. Jackson palms at his own erection through his lacrosse shorts and jock-strap.   
  
Peter’s cock is fully erect and ready to put Jackson’s mouth to good use. At a proud seven inches cut, Peter keeps his hand gripped around himself. He taps the head of his cock to Jackson’s lips and smiles as he watches Jackson’s tongue come out to play.  
  
“I’m sure that tongue can do much more than small, timid licks.”   
  
Jackson looks up at Peter as he takes the throbbing appendage into his throat. It starts off slow are careful. Jackson makes sure not to use teeth. The less teeth, the better the blow job. In fact Jackson starts off with using the backside of his tongue to whip around the head of Peter’s dick. When Peter moans, Jackson picks up the pace and takes Peter deeper into his throat.   
  
Jackson’s hands wander up and down Peter’s clothed torso as he sucks on the cock in his mouth. Jackson skillfully manages to unbutton Peter’s shirt. He tugs it off and Peter lets it drop to the ground. Jackson then maps out Peter’s abdomen with his hands. For thirty-six years old, Peter’s abs looked like that of a early college student. Amazingly cut and carved. They were like deep ridges of muscles that Jackson wanted to let his tongue eventually explore, but the taste of Peter’s cock was too good to trade in.  
  
Even Peter is impressed with himself when he looks in the mirror. His chest, barely dusted with dark chest hair, stays perfectly sculpted with lean muscle. It’s hard to the touch. His skin is equally as beautiful. Tanned, and gorgeously aged from years of wear, tear and sunlight. Even a few beauty marks mark up the smooth skin. Jackson makes note of an exceptionally larger beauty mark just above Peter’s navel. It’s only the size of a pencil eraser, and mostly hidden under darker hair from Peter’s happy trail, but for some reason it sticks out in Jackson’s mind. In fact it sends even more blood rushing down to his dick.  
  
Jackson pulls off of Peter’s cock with a wet, sloshing pop. He wipes the corner of his mouth free of saliva and pre-cum as he looks up into Peter’s electric blue eyes.  
  
“Fuck me.” He begs.  
  
Peter smiles and picks Jackson up by his jersey.   
  
“There’s lube and some condoms in my duffel bag.” Jackson explains. Peter turns around to pick up Jackson’s bag when Jackson’s pulls him back by the shoulder. “Fuck the condom. I don’t do things half-assed. If we’re doing this, then we’re doing this all the way. You’re shooting inside me.”   
  
Peter pulls a small bottle of lube from the bag. It is an expensive brand. Definitely top notch. But of course it is. Apparently rich kids even went as far as buying the best lubricant that money can buy.   
  
Peter turns back around to see Jackson stripping off his jersey and shorts. Jackson keeps the black jock strap on and lays down on the bench.   
  
“That’s an expensive bottle of lube. Don’t fucking waste it.” Jackson orders as he strokes himself through the jock while he waits.  
  
“You are to worry about keeping your legs up and spread. Nothing else. Do you understand?” Peter asks.   
  
Peter pours a good amount of lube onto his fingers. He massages his thumb around the outer rim of Jackson’s clenched hole. Jackson moans at the initial push in. Peter takes out his thumb and presses his index finger into Jackson slowly. Eventually Jackson loosens up and Peter decided that Jackson can take two more fingers. If he can’t....he’ll just have to manage.  
  
With three fingers deep in his ass, Jackson is a writhing mess. Trying to keep back the moans and wails in order to upkeep his bad boy jock image, Jackson bites his lips hard and draws blood accidentally.   
  
“FUCK ME ALREADY, goddammit!” Jackson screams.   
  
Peter, of course, obliges and lines his cock up with Jackson’s tight, pink and hairless hole. He watches Jackson’s face distort as he pushes in. Peter can hear Jackson scraping his fingernails along the wooden underside of the bench he’s laying on. Either it’s painful or a pleasure overload. Peter again doesn’t care. He begins thrusting into Jackson’s ass with spine twisting speeds.  
  
Jackson realizes that slow was never an option. Peter continues delivering thrust after relentless thrust into the tightness of his hole.  
  
Jackson’s moans only get louder over time. He fills the air with things like “oh fuck me harder!”, “Faster, you son of a bitch!”, and “Keep going!”.   
  
Peter keeps his stability as he pounds Jackson by keeping his hand mounted on Jackson’s bare chest. The teenager’s chest becomes marked up with cuts and scrapes from Peter’s claws. It’s not because Peter can’t control his wolf when engaging in such a vigorous activity. It’s because he thinks Jackson looks better marked up so that everyone can see he’s been made into somebody’s bitch.  
  
Peter grabs onto Jackson’s jock-strap contained erection. He pulls it out and begins stroking as fast as he’s thrusting. Jackson’s orgasm builds with every stroke. Peter’s big hand around his 6 ½ uncut cock feels amazing.   
  
Within mere minutes, Jackson’s mouth drops open in a silent scream for help as Peter forcibly rips one of the most intense orgasms Jackson has ever experienced out of him. Jackson’s arms flail as he tries to grab onto something to ride out the intensity of his orgasm. His hips buck upward and his flushed cock pumps streamline spurts of hot cum everywhere. Most of it lands on Jackson’s face and hair, however some of it manages to jet onto the floor.   
  
Peter wears a satisfied smile across his face as he watches it happen. It doesn’t take much longer before Peter hits the moment of no return. He grabs a tight hold of Jackson’s waist and pounds in with all his available strength.   
  
Peter paints Jackson’s insides with his sticky load. After a few weak thrusts, Peter finally pulls out and watches the entirety of his load trickle down Jackson’s tanned thighs.   
  
“Amazing.” Peter mumbles.  
  
Jackson wipes the sweat from his forehead and pushes back his hair. “We’re doing this again sometime.”   
  
Peter just laughs as he tucks his spent cock back into his pants and puts on his shirt. “This was just a quick fuck, Jackson. I got you off, you got me off. It was nothing more and it won’t happen again.” Peter buttons the last button of his shirt then leaves the locker room.  
  
Jackson remains on the locker room bench. He is a sweaty, sticky mess with his own cum splattered on his face and werewolf cum dripping out of his ass. As a hot jock who can pretty much get anybody he wants, the one person he actually now wants did absolutely nothing but make him his bitch.   
  
  
**  
**

**Author's Note:**

> More pieces of this series to come. I'm kinda busy with school so there may be a wait but i'll get around to it.


End file.
